My mother has just been invited to a memorial service. The deceased is a church member whose months-long battle with cancer has been put to an end, just last night. He is my ex-youth leader's father, who used to be a backup singer for worship service.
The ex-leader herself is a very admirable young woman, several years older than I am, and full of calibre and down-to-earth people skills. Her mom (wife of the deceased) has been so strong, testifying in church every week while we all hope and pray for her.
All fails now. There was no miracle as we'd been interceding for; no new lease of life as we'd been pleading for. In such an instance, we are prone to question: Where is the justification? Are we really in control as Science has made us out to be?
We think we can determine and manipulate the forces of nature, and eventually gain mastery over an understanding of the universe. But as Christians, we know that we really are that powerless in the view of God's sovereignty.
And yet, the impact of death is universal, transcending all boundaries be they
language, age, or faith...
It looks to be that the first page of my new diary shall be macabre in tone. I'd just filled the last page of my previous one last night; little did I know that more than just the pages of my diary had come to an end. The beginning and ending entries of a diary are significant to me, they stand as points for comparison in the author's state of mind, as well as individual maturity over a certain time frame. How much has a person changed since the pages were first brushed with ink? In what mood does the back cover close upon? These matters are a singular collaboration of author's choosing, and author's circumstance.
... and so the pages run out.
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